


Every Girl Wants a Pony

by Spiderlily_Writes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: BDSM, Birthday Presents, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Loving Marriage, Petplay, Pony Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28888467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderlily_Writes/pseuds/Spiderlily_Writes
Summary: After discovering that Marianne has always wanted a pony in the moresymbolicsense, Hilda decides to make her dream come true.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 5
Kudos: 40
Collections: Marihilda NSFW Week!





	Every Girl Wants a Pony

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Here's my entry for Day 3 of MariHilda NSFW week for the prompt: Petplay! Special thanks to @kayseesomesin on twitter for the idea!

Hilda has a very hard time restraining her smile as Marianne unties the bow on the box before her. She’s been preparing for this moment for _months_ , and she’s pretty sure that if she had to keep Marianne’s birthday present a secret for one more day, she’d just explode. Even sitting next to her on their couch like this, with the gift on the coffee table next to them, her heart feels like it’s going to beat out of her chest from the sheer excitement of it all.

Of course, there’s apprehension, too, because Hilda’s never really _gambled_ on something like this. She hopes Marianne will like it, hopes she won’t be offended that Hilda would go to such lengths for it. Her wife can be a little touchy about secrets, sometimes, and Hilda’s working under the assumption that the excitement for the gift will outweigh any offense at one of those secrets being uncovered.

Marianne’s brow furrows in confusion as she takes the wrapping paper off to reveal a fairly ordinary looking shoebox. The only thing that’s even a bit strange about it is the length; it’s a very tall box, almost mystifyingly so. She looks up at Hilda, then back down at her gift, humming to herself. She’s clearly confused, and that makes Hilda smile..

“C’mon babe, open it,” Hilda says, gesturing for her to keep going. Marianne looks at her suspiciously for a moment, but does as asked.

She takes the lid off the box, and if her eyes had gone any wider, Hilda would be worried they were going to pop out of her head and roll across the table. Marianne stares at the contents, flushing furiously and pointedly _not_ meeting Hilda’s gaze as she tries to stammer out something resembling a coherent sentence.

“Y-You. I. Hilda, you…!”

“I, Hilda, did!” she proclaims proudly, putting her hands on her hips. “Do you like ‘em? I was in the market for some new shoes and those really looked like something special.”

“New…shoes,” Marianne says, still looking shell shocked. She drops the lid next to the box, and Hilda eyes the contents once more. It’s a pair of boots. Sorta.

They’re tall, which explains the height of the box, and while they looks more or less like a pair of ordinary—if very finely constructed—leather boots near the top, they diverge somewhat near the toe. They’re angled oddly, in such a way that they prop the heel up, almost like a ballet-dancer’s shoes. At the tip of each, there is a wooden platform crafted to look like a horse’s hoof.

Marianne stares at the boots as though she doesn’t quite believe they’re actually sitting in front of her, taking a deep breath.

“They’ll…uh…they’ll go well with the…um,” she begins, still struggling to speak.

“With the box of human pony gear under the bed that you don’t think I know about?” Hilda finishes, helpfully.

Her partner’s eyes shoot up to meet hers, and she looks almost like she might try to deny it at first. But she relents, and starts to blubber out an apology. “I…I’m sorry Hilda, I never wanted to keep anything from you, I was just afraid that…that if you found out that I had such strange desires, you…” She sniffles, and Hilda feels a little stab of panic as she realizes Marianne might be about to _cry_ on her birthday. “You wouldn’t want to be with me anymore.”

Marianne seems like she desperately want to crawl into a hole and die, and Hilda knows she has to act fast if she’s going to keep her spirits up. She reaches out and takes Marianne’s hands firmly in her own, squeezing slightly.

“Hey, Mari, I didn’t get these as like…a weird joke or something. I’m not mad at you. Come on, would I do something like that?”

She sniffles again. “No. Probably not.”

“Exactly. Never. Not in a million years. You wanna know why I got them?”

Almost as though she’s afraid to hear the answer, Marianne nods.

“Well…you know how we’ve been trying some new stuff in bed? Where you take charge? And we both really like that?” Hilda asks. Marianne nods again. “Well, when I found that gear of yours, I did some asking around to learn more, and let me tell you something.”

Hilda leans in, almost as though she’s about to tell her a secret. Marianne leans in, too.

“I think it’s pretty hot,” Hilda whispers. Marianne blinks.

“Really? You mean that? You don’t think it’s too…strange?” she asks. She sounds like she’s hesitant to dare to believe it.

Hilda doesn’t think so at all. She’s met some people that were into some pretty weird shit, and this isn’t even in the top ten. She doesn’t know if it ticks _her_ boxes, really, but it would make Marianne happy, and she _is_ curious.

“I mean it. I want to be your pony, Marianne.” Hilda puts as much lasciviousness into the words as she can. “I want to be a good girl for you.”

Marianne’s eyes widen again, excitement, nervousness, and pure, unrelenting joy all playing across her face. She seems, for a moment, like she doesn’t know how to react, but she eventually settles on reaching across the table, grabbing Hilda by the front of her shirt, and kissing her so hard it makes her feel dizzy.

“Wait here,” Marianne orders, and she hops up from the couch, zips past Hilda, and is in the bedroom before Hilda even has a chance to respond.

Hilda glances at the boots in the box and sighs.

“What did I just get myself into?”

—❦—

Once Marianne slips into her dominant persona, it’s _almost_ like she’s a different woman. She’s still Marianne, of course, but she’s sort of like an alternate-universe Marianne, one who doesn’t try to hide her differences or squirrel away the parts of her that don’t mesh with people’s expectations. No, _this_ Marianne embraces those parts of herself—and even reveals some new ones—and it typically makes for one of the hottest things Hilda has ever seen.

She’s still gentle, still loving, still sweet. Marianne doesn’t ever really become cruel or angry; Hilda doesn’t think she _could_. But she becomes more stern, more demanding, and more exacting. She demands a certain level of discipline and obedience that Hilda had only ever seen her apply to horses before. So, really, the human-pony-thing makes sense.

Hilda, on the other hand? Well, she mostly just likes it when someone else takes the reins. In this case, she supposes, _literally_.

The box of harnesses and straps and doo-dads and thingies sits next to the shoebox on the coffee table, now, and Hilda has had every bit of clothing systematically whipped from her body and tossed into a corner, before having her hands bound behind her back quite firmly. Marianne doesn’t waste any time when she has a chance to get what she wants, and in this case, she really isn’t hiding what that is.

She circles Hilda, slowly, trailing a riding crop along her skin in a way that gives Hilda goosebumps everywhere it goes. While she does, she examines her with a critical eye, like a shrewd jockey eyeing a show-horse they’re thinking of buying. That makes Hilda shudder. Something about her wife looking at her that way is a huge turn-on, which is something she didn’t really expect.

The riding crop trails around some more, slipping up under one of Hilda’s breasts and lifting it slightly, bending a little bit under the weight. It would probably look silly to an observer, but Hilda gets the intent. If she wants Marianne to touch her anywhere pleasant, she’s going to have to earn it.

“You’re very pretty, Hilda,” Marianne murmurs, flicking the end of the crop up over one nipple and making Hilda gasp. “Such a pretty pony. I’m a very lucky owner.”

_Owner_. Yep. Hilda can feel herself slipping down into a more submissive mental space at that word alone. She shivers. “Thank you, I tr—”

_Crack_

The riding crop comes down on her breast with just enough force to sting, and certainly enough to interrupt her.

“Ponies don’t talk, Hilda,” Marianne chastises. “You may huff, or whine, or whinny, or gasp; whatever you please. But ponies do not speak. A talking pony, what a ridiculous idea.”

Hilda acknowledges that with a quick, sharp nod.

“Good girl. I don’t have any sugar cubes, you caught me somewhat underprepared today. But I’m sure we can work out some other kind of reward.”

She comes to a stop in front of Hilda and slips the crop between her legs, rubbing against Hilda’s slit with the shaft of it, drawing another shiver from her.

“Now we understand! Very good. What a quick learner you are!” Marianne praises, and Hilda finds herself glowing at the words. Marianne’s using the exact same tone she uses when she’s speaking to an animal, and as strange and silly as it is, she’s proud to earn that.

Marianne sets the crop aside—but not out of reach—and grabs the boots off the table. Her own face is still fairly flush, Hilda can tell she’s really enjoying this, and that makes her feel proud, too. “Now,” Marianne begins, “it’s important that any good horse has proper shoes. Are…are you ready for me to put them on you?”

Hilda has a safe word; she knows she can duck out at any time, but Marianne still seems to want an affirmative. So she nods. She’s fairly curious about how they’ll feel.

“Still a very good girl,” Marianne says, breathless. “Sit down on the couch, then, so I can take care of you.”

When Hilda acquiesces, Marianne, again, wastes no time. She kneels on the floor before Hilda with one of the boots in her hand. It’s completely unlaced; it would have to be in order to get onto her leg. The whole thing goes nearly up to her knee, and simply putting it on or taking it off is going to be a bit of a chore on its own.

She slips the boot onto Hilda’s foot, tugging it up her leg with some difficulty. Hilda would help, but, well, she can’t move her arms, and Marianne looks like she’s _thoroughly_ enjoying the process. Her hands are actually shaking a little bit as she finishes putting the first boot in place and begins on the other.

Once they’re both on, Marianne takes the laces of the first boot in her hands and slowly, deliberately begins to thread them through the eyelets made for that purpose. Her hands are still shaking, making her miss a hole and drop one of the ends. She stops for a moment, closes her eyes, takes a deep, steadying breath, and resumes. When she does, her movements are much smoother, more calculated, and though she isn’t very fast at it, something about the act of lacing up the pony-boots is titillating all by itself.

It’s almost like being tied up, which is something Hilda _definitely_ has experience with by now, but in a way that is simultaneously more and less restrictive. It’s less, in the sense that she still has her full range of movement, but more, in the sense that putting on the boots feels almost like she is being bound into a role, becoming something else. And, what’s more, she’s trusting Marianne to take care of her while she’s helpless like that. It’s intoxicating, and if she wasn’t feeling particularly submissive _before_ , she sure is now.

After they’re all laced and tied, Marianne stands up and admires her handiwork, then nods once, apparently satisfied. “Can you stand up?” she asks, and Hilda really isn’t sure if she can or not. She tries, leaning forward and rising to her feet, but she almost immediately pitches over forward, having too much momentum. Reflexively, Hilda closes her eyes and braces to hit the floor, but Marianne is there, and catches her before she can. Causing her to heave a sigh of relief. Her wife steadies her, rocking her back a little, and helps her get right on her feet.

Standing in those boots is certainly not _easy,_ far from it. It makes her feet start to ache a little bit almost as soon as she’s upright, and the boots force her legs into a sort of unnatural position. But it’s also not too uncomfortable for her to maintain, and she pushes the sensation away. She wants to be a _good_ pony. She wants to make Marianne _proud_. So, on slightly wobbly legs, she stays upright. Her effort doesn’t go unnoticed; Marianne _beams_ at her, and Hilda knows she would stay like this forever if it would keep her smiling like that.

“What a wonderful pony you are!” Marianne exclaims, clapping her hands together in front of her. “How lovely! We’re almost there, Hilda, just a couple more pieces, okay?”

Hilda nods and waits patiently for Marianne to proceed. She watches as Mari pulls ax sort of strappy looking thing out of the box, and Hilda recognizes it almost immediately. A bridle and bit! She always thought the things looked a bit uncomfortable, but she supposes she’s going to find out firsthand, today.

Marianne steps close once more to put it on her, tossing Hilda’s hair out of the way when necessary, and fixing the bit in place between her teeth. Hilda hesitates at first for that part, but she is, of course, a good girl, so she only offers token resistance until Marianne gently strokes her cheek.

The harness that the bit is attached to also has a couple of little horse-like ears that stick out on top, which Hilda has to admit is pretty cute, and Marianne reaches up to flick one of them playfully. Hilda twitches despite herself, and her wife giggles. “You take to being a pony very well!”

She can’t do much but nod, drool, and whine affirmatively in response, because of the bit, but she hopes Marianne gets the idea.

There are reins, too, which Marianne attaches with ease to the bit and bridle, and a pair of blinders that go on as well, which limits Hilda’s peripheral vision quite dramatically. It’s so strange, only being able to see Marianne when she’s standing right in front of her. The effect is not terribly similar to a blindfold, but it’s pleasantly restrictive nonetheless.

Once she’s finished, Marianne takes a step back to admire her work, hands on hips, a look of satisfaction on her face.

“Hilda, I think you’d be just about ready for a show!” she says, and even if Hilda wasn’t getting off on this—which, she realizes, she totally is—the elation in Marianne’s words would be a high all on their own. “But you know what’s very important for every show pony, right?”

Hilda huffs. Marianne giggles again.

“Good girl. I didn’t think you’d try to talk, but I have to make sure you’re well trained! Anyhow, every show pony needs…”

She trails off, rooting around in the box that Hilda _thought_ was empty. Though, she supposes, that’s just a guess, since she can’t see it. Marianne returns, holding up, of all things, a _hairbrush_.

“Every pony needs to have their mane brushed! Would you like that, Hilda? Would you like me to brush your mane?”

Hilda nods, vigorously, the straps of the like-new gear creaking slightly and the reins bouncing against her.

“Well, good, because you’ve certainly earned it.”

Marianne steps close to her, next to her, just far enough to the side that Hilda can only catch occasional glimpses of her arms or sides as she moves. It’s frustrating, but enticing at the same time, and Marianne begins to pull the brush through Hilda’s hair.

She’s already showered and done her hair that day, of course, so it’s not like it really _needed_ brushing, but something about the way Marianne is doing it just feels… _good_. She can’t explain it, but something about being taken care of like that while she’s all trussed up, about Marianne’s tender, loving touch, just makes her feel so _loved_. She sighs as Marianne leans in to press a little kiss to her cheek in between brush strokes.

“Such a good, pretty girl. What a lovely girl,” Marianne mutters, as she continues to play with Hilda’s ‘mane’, and it makes warmth bubble up in Hilda’s stomach. She _is_ a good girl! A very good pretty girl. If Marianne is saying it, well, it has to be true, right?

And then, as Marianne brushes her, she slips her free hand around to Hilda’s front, where it glides down her collarbone and over her breasts. Marianne’s touch is so, so soft, even as she lightly squeezes Hilda’s chest, runs a thumb over her nipple, moves away down her stomach, and then, eventually, blissfully, between her legs.

“Oh my!” Marianne gasps as she feels Hilda there. “You _really_ like being a pony, don’t you? Oh, I’m so glad, Hilda.”

Hilda knows she’s very obviously aroused, but she’s not ashamed of it. She’s not upset. Certainly not humiliated. She wants Marianne to feel that; wants her to know exactly the effect that she has on her. She wants Marianne to be completely aware of how she makes her feel.

She continues to brush, even as she strokes at Hilda with her other hand, and when she finally— _finally—_ slips two fingers inside her, she begins to thrust at the exact same pace that she brushes. “Such a good pony,” Marianne hums again, and Hilda begins to shake in a way that has little to do with her boots.

The rhythm is steady, long, languorous, and exactly what Hilda craves. Marianne doesn’t work at her hard, or fast, or intensely; she plays Hilda like an instrument, slipping her thumb over her clit, moving it in circles, pulling just a _little_ harder on her hair at just the right moment. She _knows_ Hilda, and so despite the pace that many might find plodding, it’s mere minutes before Hilda reaches the edge of climax.

A whimper is all she can muster, a gasp, a huff, but Marianne knows what she’s asking. “Come on, Hilda, come for me. You’ve earned it, you made me _so_ happy. And good ponies get rewards,” she says, quietly, and that’s all it takes.

Hilda whines, high and needy, and Marianne drops the brush to hold her close, bringing her in tight, even as she works her through her orgasm with her other hand. It feels wonderful, it comes in waves and rushes over her, and leaves her completely spent. When she goes too weak-kneed to stand, Marianne guides her down to the couch and sets her down gently, giving her a moment to catch her breath.

Once she’s recovered, Marianne sits down with her and drapes an arm over Hilda shoulder in a side-hug, pulling her close again.

“Those shoes were a wonderful birthday present,” Marianne says, quietly. “Thank you, Hilda. I love you very much.”

Hilda whinnies in response. She knows Marianne gets the idea.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! If you would like to follow me on twitter, find me [@spiderlilywrite](https://twitter.com/spiderlilywrite). Also, check out the rest of the prompts for the week [here](https://twitter.com/marihildansfw/status/1314593432728469513?s=20)!


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